Precious
by Eirian1
Summary: There are many questions... and for once Ardeth Bay finds himself with no answers as a woman comes into his life that will change the fate of the Medjai for all eternity...
1. We Do What We Can

Precious

_Standard disclaimers apply. Original story and characters © E. Phillips 2002. The Character of Ardeth Bay and other associated characters from The Mummy and The Mummy Returns are © Steven Sommers, Universal and associated companies. No infringement intended._

Chapter 1 

It was vicious, it was bloody and there were few that survived even half of the battle. The British soldiers fought to support their unlikely reinforcements, black clad demons that seemed to have appeared out of the very dust of the desert itself. Those that still lived were exhausted. She found it hard to believe that the locals were all backing away from the survivors stumbling off the dunes that had been the battlefield, into the compound where the fight still continued. 

Automatically her feet began to more forward, moving toward the robed figures coming off the bloodied sands, toward those fights and skirmishes were still unsettled, raiders fighting for the women and children they had come to claim for their own. 

"What are you doing?" A hand grabbed hers but she shook it off as she moved toward the man that had come in like some dark, avenging angel, beginning the turn in the tide of the battle… opening their path to freedom. 

"Let go of me!" she said. "Can't you see they need our help?" 

"We can do nothing for them!" the girl's voice was desperate… afraid. "We must get away… we must…" 

"Go then." She took off her necklace, gold and jet and pressed it into her sister's hand. It had been their mother's… but Rabah had murdered her… killed her long before rescue could arrive. "Take this, it should buy you passage enough to be safe. Go home. Find our brother and tell him that mother is lost, but that I am safe." 

"No!" Her sister moaned, pulling again at her hands as the dark shadow bore down on them. "You have to come with me. You…" 

"No, Louisa," she turned her sister around and lifted her onto the back of a nearby horse. "Go. Go with the others, please." 

"Get them out of here…!" The voice made her spin around again to face the warrior. It was deep, rich, it rolled around the sounds of the English words and made them seem exotic and beautiful as she had never before heard them. "We will cover you… get them OUT! 

"Come on, Miss," the British soldier that suddenly appeared at the side of the horse onto which she'd thrown her sister grabbed her arm and started to pull her up. "We have to go now. Plenty of room up there…" 

"No." She struggled with him, the sleeve of the silk robe covering her nightdress ripped as she pulled away. "Take her." 

"We can't wait…" The soldier acted as though he hadn't properly heard her. 

"Go!" The accented voice shouted again, and steel rang against steel. "Get out. Get. Out!" 

"I'm not coming." She turned and slapped the horse that held her sister. "I won't leave these people." 

She slapped the horse again and this time it leaped forward, and the soldier had no choice but to follow the bolting horse. 

** 

What was she doing? Why didn't she leave with that others? The Medjai warrior had no time to think further as two raiders came out of nowhere. He raised his blade and his other empty hand, punching out at one man while his blade danced a deadly rhythm around the defences of the second. 

A third man joined the fight, a triangle around him as the first recovered from the punch. He had to finish this… and fast. On the edges of his vision he saw the flapping green robe that was the raider heading for the woman. 

A sharp slice across his forearm reminded him of the immediate danger. He brought his guard up in time to deflect the next thrust that came at him from the right hand side, following through with a hard, fast punch, aided by the momentum of the movement his body made in the block. 

His opponent went reeling away; only to be replaced as one of the others stepped into his place. Silver flashed toward the Medjai's head and he was forced to reverse the direction of his blade to deflect the incoming blow to his shoulder. He didn't let it connect though. Pivoting on his rear most foot, he almost rolled around the man, ducking under the blade and thrusting upward with his own. He felt the scimitar bite home, sliding between ribs to slice into the lung beneath. Not wanting to cause needless suffering, he turned the blade upward, finding the raiders heart and ending his life. 

As the body fell away from before him he caught sight of the woman. A raider was almost within arm's reach of her. Second nature, obeying the call of his heart to keep to the oaths he'd sworn those many years before, he snatched the knife from the sheath at his back and sent it flying end over end toward the one that threatened the woman. The raider didn't even get the chance to scream in denial as the knife buried itself in his throat, ending his life instantly. 

As the threat to her fell away the woman looked in the direction her sister and the British soldier had taken. The Medjai saw the way relief escaped her, a long slow sigh, before she looked up and met his eyes with her own. He could not tell their colour at that distance and in so dark conditions as the flickering shadows of the fires served only to darken the compound, not to give it light. He let his gaze question her… _why did you not go with them?_

He had no time to see if she would answer it. _She would have though… had we the time._ His remaining opponent roared in anger and came at him, blade high and swinging in a figure eight. He had no choice but to give ground and counter strike after strike. 

Through the blur of motion he saw, incredibly, the woman start toward where he fought. Was she mad? What did she think to achieve, bringing herself so close to danger as she did? 

"No." he cried out toward her. "Get back. Stay back!" 

Still she came onward and the danger to her lent him an unexpected strength, a ferocity that surprised even the Medjai himself. He struck twice at a single thrust his opponent made and broke the rhythm of the attack, and in the next moment moved his feet to press himself forward, inside the guard of the raider. His scimitar slashed up and took the man's arm, but he did not stop there. He would not let the man suffer the shock and the pain of bleeding to death, even though an enemy. He turned the hilt of the scimitar around his hand to turn the blade and struck again in a downward crosswise motion and relieved the man of his head. 

** 

It was bitter battle he fought and sorrow filled her heart as she moved toward him. She knew she should have been afraid… terrified… but none of it came. None of the familiar tightening of her stomach or the frantic pounding of her heart in her chest, that she so often felt when she awoke from her nightmare, touched her. 

She was consumed by the need to reach him. It was urgent; a thought that screamed at her that it was where she had to be. 

A flash of his blade in the moonlight and a fount of darkness that fell to stain the packed sand that was the ground heralded the fall of another of his opponents, the final one… but then again… 

"Medjai, taalu!" The man in black called out into the darkness, before he turned to her with an almost angry countenance that halted her steps a few yards from him. More raiders were coming. She knew without turning her head that they were coming from the building almost like rats from a woodpile. 

Still he didn't speak to her, but walked a few steps in her direction, his eyes tracking the new threat that she could sense behind her, seeking to provide her with protection. He held out his empty hand in her direction… the message was clear. She was to go to him. Once more she began to move. 

His fingers closed around her wrist. He gripped her tightly… the strength in his fingers as overpowering as his presence now that she was so close to him. She looked up at him into the strikingly handsome face. Fierce and hawk like he looked back into the soft oval of her own. His mouth, full lips framed by a neatly trimmed goatee beard, were set into a grim line that showed the danger they were truly in. His eyes, dark, were still full of the same astonished question… _Why…?_

An answer found its way to the chance of expression through her suddenly dry mouth, but before she could speak a word of it, movement behind the warrior caught her attention. One of the men he had been fighting… the one he had punched in the face was moving, finding his feet and had a knife in his hands. 

She wanted to call out a warning but the words stuck in her throat. She could get nothing to come out, just stood in frozen shock as the man came on, knife extended… as he pulled back the blade and moved it quickly forward again. It was aimed for the warrior's lower back, deadly and the aim was true. 

Suddenly her paralysis snapped away and she threw herself forward, closer to the warrior who still held her wrist, which she tore free of his gasp. 

"No, stay here!" he ordered, his accented voice rolling through her. 

The threat to him was still there, and she could not obey. Her heart twisted seven different ways at once to think of him hurt and all for saving her, when she had stayed behind to answer… what? The pull of something intangible… unknown? 

Her shoulder connected with the warrior's chest and she extended her left hand around his side. How could he not feel the man behind him? How could he not know? 

She felt him move against her body, even as her hand connected the knife, ignoring the tearing slice across her palm to push it down, deflect it, turn it away. _He had known… _Her face turned toward the warrior and she saw him stab back with his scimitar, and the roar from the raider behind him, whose hand held the knife, told her he had found the man's flesh with his curved blade. 

A combination of the tangled strands of the moment unbalanced the three of them, and they went tumbling to the ground. Still the warrior tried to save her from hurt as she had saved him. He held her against him, trying not to let her fall on the hard ground. 

Impaled on the warriors blade, the raider stilled at last… finally dead… no more a threat. His hand slapped against the ground, revealing the knife, still held in his fist, locked there grimly even in death, but his companions, those she had sensed coming from the building finally reached them and from where he was pinned beneath her there was nothing the dark clad warrior could do to save her. 

Hands reached down to hook her by the arms and lift her away as rifles pointed down at her would-be saviour to keep him in place. 

She didn't struggle. It would be worse for both of them if she did; somewhere in her heart she knew that. She just allowed them to pick her up. To hold her, making what sounded like lewd comments in Arabic and touching her body through the nightdress she wore. 

She turned a frantic look on the warrior on the ground as he started to rise… ignoring the guns that would surely take his life. _No… stay there…_

Shadows moved in the darkness as the moon drifted behind a cloud, but as the light returned the few raiders that held her were surrounded by black robed figures… the same as the man on the ground. 

They let her go and, relieved of their weapons, raised their hands in surrender, as the warrior was helped to his feet by one of his fellows. His eyes found hers again and she couldn't look away as he came toward her. 

As he came within reach his fingers hooked the sleeve of her robe to raise her hand. She followed his gaze and saw the gash that ran along the palm of her hand. He snapped something in Arabic to one of the others and was handed a length of cloth which he bound around it. She winced at the sudden pressure against the cut in her hand, but looking once more she saw the sticky mess oozing over her fingers where her blood ran from the cut and she knew it must be bound and soon washed and properly dressed. 

Then the warrior looked off into the darkness, as though trying to see the retreating British soldiers. 

"Why?" he finally voice the question held in his eyes, still holding her now bound hand in his. 

She turned her own gaze in the same direction, offering up silent prayers that her sister would be safe in their keeping; would reach home and that her brother would not worry. 

"We do what we can," she said at last, her voice was quiet and soft as a whisper, "to protect the little ones."   



	2. Gidda's Question

Precious Chapter 2 

"Really?" she asked, leaning back into the softness of his robes and twisting her head around and upward to look at him from where she nestled in his arms. The underside of his neck, and his adams-apple looked so inviting that for more than a moment it took her mind off the stargazing they had been doing together. She wanted to run her fingers over the skin she now knew to be soft, to be warm and fragranced with the bite of sandalwood and the sweetness of Jasmine.

"Aiwa, ya Nafisahi," he answered softly.

"That star, there?" she asked, still not taking her eyes of his neck.

"Yes," he said, then he looked down at her, caught her admiring him, and he chuckled, "Nafisah, what... my wife?"

"Nothing," she whispered, suddenly captured in his eyes. She turned fully in his arms, pressing her hands against him, against his chest, but high, so that her fingers could brush against that soft skin. "Nothing more than you already know..."

"Ahebik, we rohy," he whispered, and captured her lips under his. She sighed, and her eyes fluttered closed as she softened her lips to open to him, sliding her fingertips along the side of his neck and up into his long dark locks. She felt his hands climb her spine to likewise tangle in her hair, to lean her backwards and allow him to deepen the kiss still further. He moaned. The sound vibrated into the kiss when her tongue caressed his within the warm oasis of her mouth.

"I love you too, my heart," she murmured softly when the kiss came to a breathless end.

* * *

"What a touching display!"

He spun round at the sound of the sarcastic voice, pushing her further back behind him and drawing both blades in a single moment. They were all he had to hand. The rest of his weapons were inside the tent beside the lapping waters.

There were six men, armed with guns, and the guns were all pointing in his direction, but instinct told him they were not alone... that there were others in the sands beyond the darkened Oasis. It crossed his mind to wonder how in the name of Allah they got past the Medjai sentries, but that was not a matter for now... now he had to protect his wife. He took a half step forward.

"I wouldn't," the man instructed, raising his own weapon to point it at his chest. "You'd be dead before you took the first swing and your lovely wife would be mine."

A slight rustle of sand was all the warning the small band of men received before they were surrounded by the dark robed Medjai that seemed to have melted out of the desert. For the first time, Ardeth saw as others did, where the Medjai got their preternatural reputation. He shook his head slightly and answered the man's comment.

"I think not," he said as half of the other man's lackey's dropped their weapons and raised their hands at the sight of the armed Medjai, but the other half did not, in fact they did the opposite, and raised their weapons ready to fire.

Ardeth had no choice. "Medjai, xatar!" he cried and knowing his men would give him the moment of time he needed, and hearing the thunder of hooves that would be his second returning, he turned and caught Nafisah against him, and lifted her into his Second's arms.

"Get her out of here!" he commanded.

"Ardeth No!" she screamed, but already he had turned and was wading back into the battle now raging behind him... though he did not turn around until he was sure she was out of harms way, safe on the back of his second's horse, riding toward where they more usually made camp.

The slightest of sounds behind him saved him from a certain and bloody death, and he angled one of his scimitars over his back to catch the blade descending toward his neck, spinning at the same time to lessen the injury from the smaller curved knife heading toward his hip. Still he growled in pain as the blade sliced through his flesh, before launching a blindingly fast counterattack that pushed his assailant back on his heels toward the thick of the melee. Around him, shots split the air, and the ringing of metal on metal as blades clashed was almost deafening. He had every faith in his men, in spite of the numbers against them, since his attackers henchmen had rushed in out of the darkness. He looked around, wading through a constant barrage of eager opponents, looking for the one that had been trying to take his new-made wife from him.

"Rabah!" he called out the man's name, making the other turn instead of taking a swing at the young, newly-sworn Medjai warrior who was on his knees, hurt before him. "Call them off! This is between you and me!"

"Enough!" the other warrior instantly called a halt. Medjai and opponents stood glaring at each others, swords raised, warily.

"Medjai, hona!" Ardeth instructed... and the two sides backed away from each other... the Medjai behind Ardeth, and the others behind Rahab.

"She was mine, Medjai... _mine_!" Rahab growled, an ugly expression on his face.

"She is not a possession, Rahab," Ardeth replied, calmly - his eyes taking a measure of the man. "She does not love you."

"And she loves you?" Rahab mocked. "She's _used_ you, Medjai. Used you to escape the life she was born to."

"I do not think so," he said very softly, remembering her tears the night before - tears of love and joy as they consummated their union.

"She belongs... to me." Rahab spat into the sand and pulled the two blades up into a ready position.

"You do not need to do this," Ardeth offered. "Leave now... stay out of Medjai territory and for Nafisah's sake - for the sake of her mother, I will let you live."

Rahab laughed... "Coward!" he accused.

"So be it," he shrugged and raised his own blades, turning them over the back of both hands and returning them to his palms to settle their balance.

* * *

"Tawal, no," Nafisah struggled in the arms of Ardeth's second in command, trying to slip from his grasp, trying to make him release her so that she could return to Ardeth's side, "He'll kill him. You do not know… you do not know Rahab."

"He said to take you to safety, First Wife." Tawal only tightened his grip on her as she squirmed. "Be still!"

"No," she protested, but still she could not free herself from his grasp. She wondered then if her sister had struggled… those months ago – almost a year… in the arms of the British soldier that she had known would take Sophia to safety, while Nafisah, as Ardeth now, remained in the desert, and in danger.

* * *

"Why?" he asked her. He was still holding the hand he had just bound, and she could feel it throbbing as the ache from the cut seeped past the adrenaline still coursing round her body. She turned her gaze out into the night, hoping – praying – that Sophia would be safe.

"We do what we can," she said at last, her voice was quiet and soft as a whisper, "to protect the little ones."

He looked at her then, a slight tilt to her head. "What would have me do, ya sitti?" he asked. "Where would you have me take you?"

"Anywhere," she sighed, and suddenly it felt as though the tiredness of all her years descended on her at once. "Nowhere could be worse than Rahab's harem."

"Did he touch you?" his eyes darkened, and she supposed that he had heard the tales. It explained perhaps why his men fought alongside the British soldiers to free the many westerners that were captives within.

She shook her head, thankful of the darkness that hid her blush. "My mother…" she said, and on the words, and the memory of her mother's final moments, the tears burst in on her, and she sobbed, shamelessly in front of the stranger. She did not even object when, moments later, the warm soft dark of his robe closed around her and he rocked her in his arms.

"I give you sanctuary," he whispered against the top of her head. "The Medjai will keep you safe."

* * *

It was hours before she woke… approaching dawn… just as he and the rest of the Medjai reached the village of Koptos. The gentle sway of the horse beneath them had soon lulled her to resting and he held her against him, to be sure she did not fall. It was a feeling that comforted him too.

He chuckled as she sat up from where she rested against his chest, and rubbed her eyes.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"One of the villages close to my tribal home," he told her. "You will be safe here. There are friends that will take you to their hearth and care for you."

She frowned. "I'm not coming with you?"

He shook his head. "Not yet, ya sitti. I cannot take you into First."

"Not ever?"

"Not now at least." He chuckled as she pouted.

"That isn't nice."

"What?"

"Laughing at me." She pouted more fully and he shook his head. "You said that the Medjai would protect me."

"And we will."

"How?" she demanded. "If I'm here and you're… wherever you're going."

"There are Medjai here," he told her, and pointed out one or two men that came out to meet their horses, calling greetings and welcome in the deep Arabic of the desert. "We stay here often."

As if to prove his point many of his warriors got down from their horse and embraced the villagers as brothers, long missed friends, even lovers. As she watched, he dismounted from behind her, and offered up his arms to help her down, lifting her effortlessly as she slid toward him.

"I'm sorry," she said at last. "I shouldn't have assumed--"

"You did not," he interrupted, "assume anything unreasonable."

He shook his head and helped her closer to a small family group that were waiting for him off to the side. They greeted him warmly, almost like a long lost son, before he turned back to her, to make introductions.

"These are my family outside of the Medjai. My mother's family, Gidda and my aunts," he told her, indicating the women. "They will care for you." Then he turned to the old woman standing among them. "Gidda this is…" There he stopped, for she had not told him her name. He saw her hesitate and tilted his head in query.

"My mother," she almost faltered on the word once more, "always called me Precious."

He smiled, "Then that is as we shall call you. Nafisah… in Arabic means precious."

"I like it," she smiled at him then, but before he could respond to the smile she was surrounded by his mother's sisters and drawn away into village toward the house they shared with his grandmother. He blinked a little in surprise when Gidda called his name.

"Where does she come from?" she asked him when he looked at her.

"British soldiers were in battle with raiders west of Farnou," he tried to be as vague as possible. "They attacked one of the raiders' bases there and I believed it best for the Medjai to assist them."

Only a moment after he had finished speaking he could see that he had not fooled his grandmother for a single moment.

"You helped them because they were attacking against Rahab," she said. "Ardeth, _why_ do you always get involved in such things? And why bring the woman here? It will bring us only trouble. She is from his harem is she not?"

Why…?

He paused, wanting to give her an honest answer. Why _had_ he kept the woman with them? Why not just bring her to the fort where the soldiers would have taken her sister? Once the battle was over it would have been a simple enough things to do.

"I took a vow," he began slowly, "that I would always be the hand that protects those in need, and the women and children of the SaHra…"

"I know the words of the Warrior's Oath, grandson," his grandmother reminded him. "I was there when you and your brother took them."

Ardeth's face darkened at the mention of his brother.

"I _keep_ the oaths I have sworn. She was such a woman and in need of protection," he said in a tone that would brook no argument. "I have given her sanctuary. The protection of the Medjai is hers and if my own family will not shelter her until I can have her brought to First, then I will find another that will."

"I did not say I would not have her in my home," Gidda said. "All I wish to know is why?"

"Because," he began and in his mind he heard words, but did not speak them. _She saved my life._

"It is a dangerous road you walk with this choice."

"I am not afraid of Rahab," he told her.

"Perhaps you should be," his grandmother said, "but you still have not answered my question, Ardeth."

"Because we do what we can," he said at last, his voice barely above a whisper, "to protect the ones we love."


	3. Realisation of Echoes

Precious Chapter 3 

Nafisah was clinging to Tawal as they finally reached the oasis. She had lost track of how long or hard they had been riding. She barely felt when he lifted her down from the horse and led her into the home of Ardeth's sister. Nafisah blinked at the change from darkness to the light in the living space and watched as Asfarah looked up in concern

"Tawal?" Asfarah asked, and then rose to take Nafisah by the hand and draw her further into the room.

"There was an attack," he said, "Your brother said to bring her to safety."

"Who?" Asfarah asked, alarmed.

Tawal shook his head, bringing a frown of confusion to Nafisah's face. She did not understand why Ardeth's second would not tell his sister what was happening.

"It is my fault," she said quietly, Rahab--"

Asfarah spat at the mention of the man's name. "Return to my brother and see an end to this, Tawal."

Nafisah looked between the two of them, trying to understand what she was witness to; trying to work out why it was that Tawal gave a respectful bow, the kind he would have given to Ardeth at Asfarah's command. By the time she looked again in his direction, after searching Asfarah's eyes for answers, Tawal was walking quickly toward the door.

"Come and sit, sister." Asfarah said softly, once more taking Nafisah's hand. "We will wait together for news."

* * *

"Captain, I don't think you're hearing what I have to say," Sophia sighed as she took the seat that Captain Donahue was still gesturing toward with his outstretched hand. "It has been over a year and you tell me that there is still no sign of my sister and that you have no idea where it is she was taken by those desert people?" 

"My dear Miss Lewis," the Captain began in tones that matched her own exasperation, "My men have done everything they can to find your sister. There is no sign of the people that you say helped in the battle, and quite frankly I doubt there ever will be."

"Are you calling me a liar now, sir?" Sophia was becoming more agitated by the moment. "I rather suspect that you just don't _want_ to find her."

"There isn't a need for those kinds of accusations, Miss Lewis," Donahue said smoothly, "I am merely relating to you that there has been no sign of anyone answering the description you gave either of your sister, or the men that joined in the battle against the raider Chief."

He sighed for a moment and Sophia thought he looked as though he were debating saying something more.

"If you have an opinion, Captain Donahue, please voice it," she snapped irritably.

"All right," he said tersely, "though I warn you it is not pretty."

"Nevertheless…"

"Nevertheless, I rather fear that your sister may still be _with_ these desert warriors, wherever they are. The desert is full of them, bands of Tuareg warriors. They're nomadic, you see, and therefore difficult to find. They probably had some kind of grudge, or blood feud with the raider Chief and that was why they joined in with the battle, and not through any altruistic reason at all."

Sophia sighed. This was what she had feared he might say. "Is there nothing we can do then?"

"I did not say we had given up on finding her, Miss Lewis, merely explaining why it was so difficult."

She nodded. "So you will keep searching?"

"All of my men have her description and have been ordered to effect her rescue and arrest whomever it is that is holding her against her will," he confirmed.

Sophia relaxed a little for the first time since visiting the fort. Her brother had insisted that going there was a fool's errand, but since _he_ was doing nothing to try and find Precious, then she felt the need to try and take matters into her own hands.

"I'm grateful, Captain," she said and gracefully rose to her feet. The last eighteen months had seen her mature into a graceful young woman, not the squirming teenager her sister had thrown onto the back of a soldier's horse those many months ago. She would be the envy of many when finally a suitor showed himself and approached her brother…

It was not until her hand was enfolded with the Captain's for the parting handshake, coupled with the thought of her brother that the realisation twisted cold inside her belly. _She_ had been the one to come here to question the soldiers when it should have been her brother. And when her mother and sister, along with herself had been plucked from the back of the camel into the raider's harem… how long had they been there – two… three years perhaps?

The coldness tightened still further inside her gut and she quickly withdrew her hand from the handshake. "May I ask another question, Captain… to satisfy my own curiosity, nothing more?"

"Of course, Miss Lewis," he answered.

"What was it that led your soldiers to be attacking Rahab's stronghold in the first place?"

"Complaints, Miss," he told her, "and reports from local villages that his men were raiding. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, I just," she waved her hand, feeling sickened by the news and the implications of it that pricked in her heart, "wondered if you knew what you would find, that was all."

She excused herself quickly and hurried back to the quarters she had been assigned.

* * *

He had to return to the battle site. He had to let his First Medjai know that his wife was safely in First. Without thinking his whispered prayer fell into step with the timekeeping beat of his horse's hooves as they struck against the sand. He refused to listen to the annoying 'what ifs' that were trying their hardest to interrupt his prayer. 

Tawal rode hard, following the instructions of the woman whose barely grown boy, for all he knew, held the future of the Medjai in the palms of his small hands.

* * *

Ardeth looked up and shielded his eyes with his hand, leaning on the rake he had been using in his chores. There were horsemen riding in from the open desert and they were riding hard. A small frown crossed his young face. 

Rahab came out from the stable to fetch the straw that would replace the soiled bedding that Ardeth was still raking into a pile, ready to clear away. Ardeth glanced at him as he too frowned.

"Who are they?" Rahab asked.

"Father's warriors, I think," he answered softly, turning to look once more.

"There is something wrong," Rahab put down the bail and grasped Ardeth's arm.

Ardeth shook off the younger teenager's contact. "Calm yourself, Rahab. This is unbecoming of the Medjai warrior you will become," he said. He felt him stiffen and sighed. Rahab was always so fast to take offence.

"Adilah!" The cry from the incoming warrior, who Ardeth now recognised as Jafan, his father's Second, cut off anything he may have thought to say to the other youth. They were calling for his mother and it was an unmistakable tone in which they called.

"Father…" he whispered.

His mother came running from their home. She looked as pale as goat's milk and struggled to cover herself as she ran to meet the warriors. Ardeth watched from somewhere outside of himself.

"You must come with us, First Wife," Jafan said, and reached down for her hand. "You, who gave him the life from your body, must receive _his_ life now."

Without knowing he did it, Ardeth moved forward to cup his hands for his mother's knee, so that she could more easily mount in front of Jafan, protesting even as she did, "A healer… we must bring a healer."

"One attends him already," Jafan answered, with a nod to Ardeth. "Go on with your chores, young Medjai. These men will watch over you and will bring you later to your father's side."

Four of the warriors with Jafan dismounted from their horses, and took them to the stables… coming out to fetch straw for them themselves. Ardeth saw Rahab was as equally rooted to the stable yard as he was and then the warriors moved past him to take up guard positions at the entrance to the yard. It broke the hold that the sight of his mother held in front of Jafan had on him and he shook himself a little.

Jafan wheeled his horse and then left as quickly as he had ridden in.

* * *

He stood outside the hastily erected tent and watched as the sun sank slowly behind the far dunes. It bathed the sky in brilliant shades of orange and red, like fire shot through with white and smudged with the grey of clouds. 

He looked away; turned his gaze to where Rahab was sitting, silent and sullen beside Asfarah. He wanted to offer words of comfort, but nothing came to him except the lonely brilliance of the sky at sunset. Rahab looked up and their eyes met. He was surprised to find anger among the emotions he could read in those eyes.

They both started as the flap of the tent's door was held aside. Rahab jumped to his feet, but it was only the healer's apprentice bringing out yet another bowl filled with water that was a deeper red even than the sunset.

"When can we see him?" Ardeth asked.

"Not yet, Sayiidi," the apprentice healer said apologetically and he shivered at her choice of words. They spoke of hopelessness.

He was about to speak, to tell her that she should not speak of him in such a way when the door to the tent opened again. He turned to meet the tear streaked face of his mother.

"He is asking for you, son," she said.

Ardeth nodded and followed her into the tent. It was dimly lit inside. Blood covered the sheets on which his father lay, eyes closed, unmoving. At the touch of his mother's hand on his shoulder, Ardeth moved forward to take the place of the healer, kneeling at his father's side. His mother knelt beside him.

"You oath… boy," his father's rasping voice made him jump. "Give me… your oath…"

"Abi?" he stammered, momentarily confused, but then his father's fingers closed around his wrist. The hand that held him was bloody, and the grip was weak, and beneath the sheet, that had shifted, Ardeth glimpsed the mess that had once been his father's body.

"I…" he stammered again, and then as his father groaned in pain began again, "On this sunset hour I make my most solemn oath, my father…"

* * *

It was that time which was neither night nor day by the time he left the tent and let the flap fall closed behind him. Many more people had gathered to await the news first hand, close by. They each looked at him expectantly as he came to a halt beside Rahab. 

He did not need to give them an answer.

The ragged note of his mother's voice, raised in grief… keening for the loss of his father split the coming night. It was as though all the storms of the desert had gathered in her body and were seeking to escape from her throat, terrible, unspeakable sorrow.

Ardeth felt his legs weaken at the sound and quickly braced them, forcing himself to keep to his feet by the sheer force of his will. All he wanted to do was to sink to the ground, as Asfarah had done. He looked at Rahab, instructing him with his eyes to see to her care.

For several moments, Rahab only stared back at him and Ardeth worried that Rahab would not help Asfarah just to spite them both, but then he lowered himself beside the girl and took her in his arms. Ardeth turned his attention back to the gathered Medjai who were all looking toward him.

"Truly, to Allah we belong and truly, to Him we shall return," he said barely above a whisper. His words were echoed to a man.

It seemed an eternity before his mother emerged from the tent. She looked skeletal from weeping and the hand she placed on his shoulder trembled as if a great wind still blew through her. She lifted her head as proudly as the grief would allow and addressed the gathered warriors.

"Hadif Bay has left this world and is First Medjai no more," she said, "I have witnessed the oath his son gave to him, taken to Allah on the last breath of Hadif's soul. Ardeth Bay is your First Medjai now. Honour him well, as you did the father."

Ardeth swallowed hard as they all lowered their heads to him in a respectful obeisance and then swallowed harder still as his mother continued.

"Look to your brother for guidance, Rahab," she said, "Asfarah, for he is as your father now."


	4. I Swear

Precious Chapter 4 

His eyes snapped open and with an instinct honed by years of battle, he rolled away from the figure crouched beside him.

Pain flowed through every fibre of his body like the Nile in flood, and in spite of himself he cried out and had no choice but to remain immobile. He could barely breathe.

"Be still, Medjai," a soft voice said, and shuffling to his left told him that the owner of the voice – a woman – was once more coming closer. As she stopped moving she said, "I will not harm you."

"Who are you?" Ardeth gasped.

"My name is Hanra," she told him. "Can you sit up?"

Painfully, and having to lean against her far more than he wanted to, he managed to bring himself, to a more or less vertical position and stayed as still as he could while she began to examine him.

"Where are we?" he asked.

She chuckled. The sound felt very out of place, and when she spoke again he realised why.

"This is Rahab's prison," she said, "It is where he keeps those of us he wishes to be forgotten until he decides he is ready to…"

She made a quick motion beneath her chin.

A moment of breathlessness took him and her face began to swim before him as lack of breath added to his light-headedness.

"He may not have to," he whispered after he had caught his breath.

She nodded. "You are badly hurt."

* * *

Tawal rode as though Shaitan himself were on the heels of his horse. He had his command from the sister of his First Medjai, but even without that he needed to return to the oasis and find out the fate of his brothers in arms and, if he could, assist them against Rahab and his scum.

He saw the smoke as he reached the top of the dune, and though not possible, tried to urge his horse to run faster until he reached the sand of Al-AfraH and threw himself from horseback, running on his own legs almost before his feet had touched the ground towards the nearest of the fallen black shapes.

"Brother!" he called out as he ran, praying to Allah that his shouts would rouse the man. The warrior did not move, and as he fell to his knees at the man's side, he could see that he was certainly dead.

Gently he closed the warrior's eyes, whispering another prayer to Allah as he did so. Then he got to his feet and began to turn a slow circle, bearing witness to the carnage that had happened there.

The bodies of men – Medjai and some of Rahab's men too, lay scattered on the ground like dark pebbles in the sand that blushed a rosy pink as though embarrassed at the death that had played out upon it.

One of the Medjai lay dead at the edge of the water, dark tendrils reaching out into the clear blue as his water mingled with that of the desert. Not far from him the fabric of the nuptial tent that Ardeth had shared with his beloved Nafisah keened for their love, sending plumes of grief into the clear blue sky.

Tawal shivered.

"Medjai," he called, "hona!"

A moan whispered against the sickening silence, and Tawal turned and sprinted in the direction of the sound. He fell to his knees at the side of the warrior who, though barely, still lived.

"Honoured Second…" the man started, and coughed a little. A teardrop of blood wept from the corner of his lips.

"Hush, brother," Tawal said. He did not want the man to use up all of his strength in irrelevant talk. He needed to know. "Ardeth… did he…?"

"He fell," the man gasped, and coughed again. "We fought."

"He is dead?"

"I…" another cough, "…do not know. He fell and then we fought."

Tawal nodded. He understood. He would have to check each and every one of the fallen Medjai. He had to find the First Medjai… to discover his fate. Perhaps he would find some of the warriors that would survive this terrible day.

"Rest, my brother," he told the warrior. "I will bring you to help."

"No," the man shook his head and gave another cough. "I am… there is no time. Bear witness for me… Honoured Second."

Tawal sighed sadly, and looked for a moment at the sky.

"Aiwa," he said softly and listened while, with fading strength, the warrior he had called brother uttered his last sacred prayer to Allah.

* * *

It was a grim caravan he led back into First. What few horses he had managed to round up carried the dead, while the four gravely injured Medjai were born on litters slung between camels, commandeered from a passing Bedouin tribe.

"Healer!" he called as he reached the outskirts of the settlement. If anyone could save these men it would be those fabled ladies. They came at his call, their red and silver robes glistening in the late afternoon sun as they moved quickly to the aid of the injured. It was almost as though the rest of the world did not exist for them once they had their patients in sight, for not one of them was affected at all by what happened in the heart-rending moments afterwards.

Other Medjai from the settlement began to relieve the horses of their burdens sending quietly for the families of the fallen as they recognised their deceased fellow warriors. One by one wives, mother… sisters and brothers of those brave souls arrived and thus began the grieving.

Tawal tried to get to Shamra as she came for her husband. She was nearing the end of her pregnancy and he did not wish to let his best friend's wife bear the grief of his death alone.

She reached Azim before he got to her side and fell to her knees, all but throwing herself against her dead husband's chest and then reached up with a hand to tear the veil from her hair. With a terrible cry she took up keening for the loss of the man she had loved. It was permitted in those first moments of revelation. It was expected, but none could be unaffected by such an act – repeated by more women as the established couples came together one last time. Even the women of arranged matches shed tears of grief at the fall of their husbands. Sorrow lay heavy in the air.

After several long moments Tawal came to Shamra and knelt beside her.

"Shami," he said softly, "He is gone. Truly, to Allah we belong and truly, to Him we shall return. Let him rest."

The words and his presence seemed to calm her. She let go of her husband and allowed them to carry him to the tent where the men would prepare him for burial. Shamra turned and leaned against him. He closed his arms around her.

"What will become of me?" she asked through the tears that still came, though more quietly now. She let one of her hands fall to her belly as she continued, "…Become of _us._"

"I will care for you," he said without hesitation, "As I promised Azim I would."

Shamra nodded. "Aiwa, ya gozi."

He held her closer and lowered his head, to protect her from all eyes as she grieved. He did not look up again until the shadow fell across them both. When he did he found himself looking into Asfarah's worried face.

"My brother?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Nadraz said that he fell before they began to battle with Rahab's men, but I did not find his body. It must be that Rahab has taken him."

Asfarah nodded. "Then when all is done here, we will travel to his stronghold in the south."

"It shall be as you command, Sayiida."

She shook her head, "No. It will be as _you_ command, Honoured Second. If what you say is true, my brother still lives, and therefore I cannot assume command. You will lead the Medjai until he returns, as you gave your vow to do when you were sworn as Ardeth's Second."

* * *

Ardeth swallowed hard as he looked on the sea of black and silver that stood before him. Still he ached where they had marked his body, but in seventy days, the unsightly scaring had faded, leaving him only with the blue-black sacred marks of his people. Still the marks on his cheeks caught his attention every once in a while, but he knew that in time, he would cease to notice them.

He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them once again looked on the gathered warriors that stood around the raised central space and for as far as his eye could see.

On an occasion like this, as many of the warriors of all twelve of the tribes as possible gathered to witness the investiture of their new leader.

The approach of the other commanders warned him that it was time, and with them standing around him as the ritual demanded Ardeth lowered himself to his knees and began to speak, slowly and clearly, the vows he had already given privately to his father, and then the vows spoken by every First Medjai since the ancient time of the Pharaohs of Egypt.

"I, Ardeth, Called Bay after the death of my father, offer up these sacred promises before Allah, before my people, and before the old gods of this land…"

"…I give my life in service, as have all since the time of the great Pharaohs, to uphold the law in the desert, and shall be the Voice of Law, as Medjai, and as First Medjai…"

* * *

Tawal drew in a deep breath. When he had taken his own oaths, not so long ago, the Voice of the Law that he had promised to uphold had been Hadif, now his eldest son would command that loyalty of him and he would gladly give it.

Standing close by, in the inner ring of Medjai around the Commanders and their new First Medjai he suddenly felt the weight of the moment settle on his shoulders. This would be new for all of them, and it would take some time to get used to. But Ardeth… this youngster, though barely more than a boy, carried himself with something beyond what he saw in most warriors. It set him apart from them all.

"…I shall hold the honour of the Medjai as my own, and give a life of service to my people; protecting and cherishing my warrior brothers as those of my own flesh and honouring their wives, sons and daughters as my own. As First Medjai I shall protect the lives of all the sons and daughters of all my people…"

Uttered so quietly but surely from this youngster's lips, Tawal found that he believed more truly than when even _he_ had given his own vows to do likewise, that the words spoken were not mere words, but _were_ a sacred covenant that this young man made with his people… with Allah… and with all of the Old Ones that had kept this land alive for so long. His heart ached suddenly to be able to speak his own vows again and make them as true as his First Medjai's.

"…I swear on my every breath that I will use my strength and honour as Medjai to defend those weaker than myself; those in need and those that have placed their trust and liberty upon me and in my demesne. As First Medjai I shall strive ever to give wise commands that will uphold these vows and the vows my warriors have taken…"

Tawal breathed out, seeing stars – he had been holding his breath for so long. Why had this youngling become so important to him before he had even proven himself in battle or in any other way? He did not understand.

"In whom do you place your trust to stand at your side as Second?" The commander of the Second tribe asked the traditional question and Tawal realised he had missed the ending of Ardeth's vow… the desire for death should he break his oaths…

He glanced to where Ardeth's family stood. Hadif's mother was still wearing the traditional white of mourning for her son even after the seventy days were done. Adilah did not.

He understood the reasons for both, even though he knew that Adilah still grieved for the loss of her husband – knew that she would for many years… but it would be unseemly now in the eyes of the gods that protected their life for her to do so. She had made her choice. She would not enter the house of healing, nor enter the Temple of Isis still maintained by the Medjai to keep a balance in a desert ruled by Allah. She had accepted the offer of shelter given to her by Jafan and would enter his house as his second wife. It was right. Asfarah was old enough that soon she would be married and caring for a family of her own, and within the year Rahab would be sworn a warrior, and old enough to keep a house of _his_ own. There was no reason for Adilah to shut herself away from a life she was still young enough to enjoy.

Thoughts of Rahab made him turn his head a little more so that he could see the boy. He stood sullenly looking at the ground, pouting, seeming to be uninterested in his brother's investiture, perhaps even resentful. Tawal frowned… he did not understand why it should be so. His brother would have him sworn his Second and they would share command of the Medjai, surely… would then not? It would mean that Jafan would have to remain as Honoured Second until Rahab was sworn, but still…

"I place my trust in my warrior brother, Tawal," Ardeth said, rising to his feet and holding out a hand in his direction.

Tawal gasped. Not Rahab then… this was some mistake… it could not be that Ardeth would choose him over his own brother. What had the young man seen? What did he know?

"He will be my Honoured Second," Ardeth added, beckoning him forward.

As he stepped onto the raised centre of the settlement, Tawal realised, ironic as it felt, that Allah had indeed granted his wish to be able to repeat his vows as Medjai warrior – and now as Honoured Second he would repeat those of Ardeth's own.

"When I cannot be approached look to Tawal in my place," Ardeth said in acceptance of those vows that Tawal felt flow through him so powerfully this time, "For he is your Honoured Second now."


	5. Caliph ha!

_Warning: Though not particularly graphic, this chapter contains a scene of non-consensual sex._

**Precious**

**Chapter 5**

It was a strange juxtaposition of faith, Allah and Isis hand in hand as the Imam and the seven priestesses of Isis walked slowly down the aisle between the two blocks of white and gold clad Medjai, ahead of the wrapped and garlanded corpses.

Precious water had been sacrificed on the sun baked ground to make it soft enough for the burial parties to dig the seventeen graves for the fallen warriors, a measure of the honour these men commanded from their fellow Medjai.

"Truly to Allah we belong," the Imam intoned before the assembled people, and with them Nafisah answered.

"And truly to Him we shall return." She felt the knot of nausea returning. Though they suffered terrible grief, these families were lucky. They at least knew the fate of husband, brother or son. She knew nothing of what had happened to Ardeth, only that they suspected he had been taken by Rahab. Nightly her dreams were haunted by terrible visions of the torture he must be receiving at the hands of the beast she knew Rahab to be… and there was no ritual to comfort her as the funeral rites gave comfort to the families of the warriors they buried there that day.

Here eyes blurred with tears as she listened to the words of the Imam that honoured the warriors as they were each lowered into the graves. "These men have honoured their vows and given their lives in service to uphold the law in the desert. Their every action honoured and protected their people; cherished the lives of all the families in the desert as they did their own families, with the flesh of their bodies and the blood of the hearts. They gave their life defending against aggressors who would harm those weaker than themselves – in defending those who placed their trust in the Medjai. Each of these men has truly earned their place in Paradise, and though we are sad at their passing we have joy in our hearts at the thoughts of the pleasures that await them there, knowing that we too, belonging to Allah, and living our lives in reflection of His will, as they have done, we shall be reunited in heaven."

The Priestesses of Isis circled the graves then, singing their psalms in the old tongue of the land that graced the walls of the many tombs guarded against plunder by the Medjai, words from ancient funeral rites of the land that Nafisah neither knew nor understood, but the haunting melodies they sang released the tears that were still trapped within her eyes to flow over her cheeks.

"Come home to me," she whispered, "please… I love you. I need you."

One by one, the families of the deceased came to her, bringing the warriors weapons, wrapped in their Indigos. As wife to the first Medjai she would be called on to place each bundle into the ground, an honour to the warriors. As each of the family's representatives handed the precious bundles to her, she spoke to them.

"Your son honoured me," or "Your husband was a brave warrior," or "Your brother honoured his oaths well."

Trying to keep each of them straight in her mind so that she did not insult any of them left her reeling with effort of it all. All she wanted was to be in the arms of the man she loved.

"…your permission, First Medjai Regent," the woman's voice was soft and hesitant, but the surprise of hearing it brought her back to her duties.

"Speak your request and I will answer it," she responded as she had been taught.

"My husband was a good man, and loved me well and brought honour to me in an honourless world. As I cannot now be at his side, and cannot bear in my heart to be at the side of another, though shelter has been offered to me by his warrior brother, I crave your permission to seek the sanctuary of the Healers, where the love I still hold for him can be given for the good of all the warriors and women of the Tribes."

Nafisah reached out a shaking hand toward the young woman who stood before her, and laid it gently on the woman's head.

"Thavan would be honoured by your decision," she said quietly, and looking up nodded to the Master Healer. "Take your place with your sisters of the Hall."

The Master Healer came forward bearing a simple red veil which she placed over the head of the woman before leading her away. As they, Nafisah closed her eyes against the terrible question that suddenly burned in her mind. _What will _I_ do when they tell me of his fate if they find him dead?_

* * *

Sophia shielded her eyes with her hand as she looked across the sands toward the ruins of the building on the plateau before them. She shivered in spite of the heat as fingers of cold dread climbed her spine like a lovers caress.

What was she thinking? Why had she come back here? It served no purpose.

"Miss Lewis?" her guide's accented voice startled her, coming from the silence of the windswept desert as it did. She looked over at him, and realised that she had stopped her camel from moving; she was holding the rein so tightly.

"I'm sorry," she said, "please continue. I wish to see that building up ahead."

"Miss," the guide sounded nervous, "it is little more than a ruin and… we should not be in here for too long. It is so hot in this time of the day."

"You needn't worry; I'm quite accustomed to the heat. I spent many years here as a young woman," she flicked her camel with the whip and tried to raise her head as the creature carried her closer and closer to the place that had been a prison for her for so many years.

She heard the guide's reluctant sigh, echoed by those of her servant as they urged their mounts to follow her. If only they knew what an effort it was for her to set foot on that ground again.

"What is the nearest town to this place?" she asked as the guide came level with her.

"Town?" he asked as though unfamiliar with the word.

"Yes, you know… Town, village… settlement even?"

"It would be Burhan, Miss," her servant answered for the guide, "unless the Tuareg traders are at the near oasis, over there."

She turned her head in the direction that the woman pointed, but of course could see nothing but the shifting haze over the sand.

"How far?" she asked.

"Many hours," the guide answered, shaking his head at the servant. Sophia did not miss the look that passed between them. "If we hope to reach either one before night comes, we should leave this place."

"We're not leaving until we've investigated that building over there," she told them firmly. "Now come on."

What she hoped to find she had no idea, but she was sure that if she had any hope of finding her sister after all this time, she had to start somewhere, and here seemed as good – or bad – a place of doing so as any she could think of. This was, after all, where they had last seen each other.

It was not long before she felt that her camel was walking on the more compacted ground of the plateau itself, and in a shorter time still she urged the camel to kneel so she could dismount, leaving the nervous guide to hobble the creature so that it did not escape and leave her stranded.

Her whole body trembled, reacting to the remains of Rahab's fortress with a strong physical memory. As she walked around, her eyes searched the ground for any signs that might give her a clue as to where her sister had gone – had been taken – she corrected herself, with the band of demons from the desert who were surely little better than Rahab and his men had been. Here sister would never stay with such men of her own accord.

"What do you look for?" the voice of the guide startled her once more as he came to stand beside her.

"Nothing I—"

"You search the ground with your eyes," he told her he had seen, "they linger on the darker places. They say a great battle came here. British men to bring down the Caliph of this place."

"Caliph, ha!" she exclaimed before she could stop herself. "He was nothing more than a bully… criminal… a man who—"

A shout of alarm in Arabic cut off what she had been about to say and the guide whirled around to look in the direction that her servant was pointing. Then he ran to the edge of the plateau as if the small distance would help him to see more clearly.

"What is it?" she asked him, wrapping her arms around herself.

"If we are lucky," he said, coming back to her side and trying to hurry her toward the camels, "It is the Tuareg traders…"

"And if not?" she could not help but ask. He merely looked at her in answer.

* * *

"Missus, we must leave. Leave now," the native who served as their guide burst urgently in upon them as they picnicked at the water's edge. "Come, come… up on camel, quickly."

"Abdul," Mother said with the hint of laughter in her voice, "Don't be ridiculous, we can't leave our things behind. We've plenty of time left in the day to get back to the village. Do stop worrying so much."

"Go and bring the scotch from my saddlebag, there's a good chap," Father added, patting the guide on the arm where he crouched beside the family.

"No, Sayiid," the guide said urgently, "You don't understand…"

Father frowned, and then said, "Sophia, be a good girl and go and get Daddy his scotch."

"But I can't reach, Daddy," she said.

"Oh, Precious, go with your sister," Father said impatiently, "leave me to deal with this impudent fellow."

She felt her sister's hand around her wrist as she almost dragged her away from the blanket at the waterside, tugging harder when she tried to turn around.

"Don't look, So-so." Precious said.

"He's going to beat him, isn't he?" Sophia asked only moments before they both heard the crack of leather striking the unfortunate man. She felt sick. "I hope he doesn't do it for long."

Precious put her arm around her and snuggled her closer. "It'll be all right. He'll have a drink and forget all about it in heartbeat, you'll see. He won't take it out on us, he—"

Her sister's words were cut off by a short, stifled scream, and Sophia was suddenly spilled to the ground out of her arms. As she rolled she saw the dark skinned, robed figure holding Precious tightly in his arms, his hand over her mouth. More alarming were the several other men that rose out of the bushes and grasses that surrounded the oasis. Each one of them had rifles, and they were all pointing them in the direction of Mother and Father.

A single shot rang out, followed by her Mother's terrified scream. Sophia covered her eyes, not wanting to see; not wanting to know, but she felt hands… hands at her shoulders as she was hauled to her feet and forced stumbling toward where her father's body lay on the ground. Mother lay weeping, her head on Father's shoulder.

"Daddy!" she cried and struggled with the man holding her to go to him… to be beside her mother in weeping for him. She need not have struggled, for the man that held her, and the one carrying her sister tossed them both unceremoniously to the ground beside their parents. Mother gathered them both into her arms, still weeping.

Sophia did not look up from her mother's bosom until the sounds of hoof beats drummed to a halt and the jingle of tack announced the arrival of another. When she did she could not see much for the sun in her tear filled eyes, not until he came to stand close enough that his shadow fell over them.

He was a tall man. What she could see of his hair as it escaped from the grey turban he wore on his head was long, and dark, and probably held a wave or curl when loosed. His skin was weathered from spending much time in the desert and his cheeks were strangely scared, as though they had been burned, his forehead too. He was thickset, muscled the same way Sophia remembered the stable hands back home, from much riding and working with horses… working with his hands.

"This is most fortunate and timely," he said. "He was your husband, yes?"

"You _bastard_!" Mother spat, and held them both closer.

Sophia began to cry anew. She'd never heard her mother use words like that before; her father yes, many times, but never her mother. She was far too gentle for that.

The man laughed, and said something in Arabic to the others of his men who also laughed.

"Come with me," he ordered Mother, holding out a hand.

For the second time that day, Mother shocked her. She spat into the man's hand. His face turned in a second from amusement to fury and without the passing of another moment he brought the hand down hard against Mother's face. The sound was almost the same as when Father had been beating the guide for his rudeness.

Mother let out a small cry and then fought so hard to hold on to Precious and to her that Sophia was hurt by the scratch of her mother's fingernails as the man's lackeys dragged them from her arms.

"I was going to use your shelter and spare the girls their innocence," he said angrily, grabbing Mother by the hair, "but they may as well see what will be expected of them once we reach my harem."

"Don't look, So-so," Precious hissed urgently, her voice thick with tears. "Don't…"

But the man holding Sophia by the hair kept her head turned toward her mother, and her eyes, wide with terror would not close. Not even when Mother screamed as the man held himself against her and thrust hard… rutting shamelessly with her in front of their eyes.

When he was done, just as shamelessly, he stood up from her and cleaned himself off on her skirts before walking a little way away. The men let her and her sister go, and they clung to each other until Mother was done weeping enough to come to them, crying out in pain as she moved.

"Oh, my little ones," she whispered breathily as she held them tightly, "I will do everything in my power to save you from such cruelty…"


End file.
